These Eyes-sold

Picture yourself in a boat on a river,

with tangerine bees and marmalade flies,

suddenly you find yourself, awake in a room,

where all of the walls have eyes,


and even the ceiling, the floor, your art,

even the shadows, your snowy new prose,

your drums, outcomes and wayfaired despairs,

your dreams and extremes, they seem

to have eyes, have eyes, my dear.

And with certainty the skies have eyes, my love…

Certainly, the skies have eyes,

overhead, eyes that won’t ever:

alcoholize, anesthetize, analogize, animalize,

cannibalize, chastize, minimize, capitalize you,

my love, certainly these eyes won’t minimize

you, dear.

You are seen and have been

the aquamarine queen in the in-between world

of love, my dove.


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